


Standard Deviation

by the_misshapen_polyp



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2019-11-13 15:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18034418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misshapen_polyp/pseuds/the_misshapen_polyp
Summary: All relationships have those little rites-of-passage, here and there. Unfortunately for Soul, even the most unconventional couples have to meet the parents, at some point...





	1. family matters

Maka's current position is draped over the couch in her silken PJs, her cellphone pressed to her ear as she sips at a cup of tea she's been balancing on the couch arm and chatters excitedly away to her mysterious mother on the other end.

Soul's position is cross-legged on the floor of their living room, his eyes glued to the TV screen and hands glued to the controller as he tries desperately to focus on his game and not eavesdrop on the conversation that Maka's having  _right next to him_. Unfortunately, he's losing this battle and finds himself caught up in his own curious speculations of the things that estranged mothers and daughters talked about over the phone.

They were good at this; coexistence. At first, moving in had been a painful and awkward experience for the both of them. Imagine it! Forced to cohabit at the tender age of 13, with a person of the opposite sex you barely knew but were suddenly hurled into your life. Puberty was awkward enough when you had to go through it in the comfort of your parents' home, let alone in this inhospitable environment.

Soul's had been the first and most candid experience. All those impromptu nosebleeds at Blair's behest, and he hadn't exactly been adept at hiding it. By fourteen Maka had (mostly) learned to keep her cool when it happened, and not to blame him for his sudden bouts of blood-loss whenever that damn  _cat_  entered his line of vision. By fifteen she had pretty much learned to knock before she went in his room. By sixteen… well, by sixteen it was her turn for a little embarrassment.

Having to navigate the world of periods and training bras was mortifying enough, but her sudden overwhelming capacity to blush any time Soul came remotely  _near_  her made things exponentially worse. Ugh, and those days when he decided (for no good reason) to step out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel slung innocently across his hips had been especially… testing.

His amusement at the tables turning onto her was only somewhat tempered by how helpful and laid-back he had been during that period. Buying tampons and chocolate once a month had become something of a ritual; but always,  _always_  handed to her with a sly grin and a sarcastically uttered 'I live to  _serve_ you, meister'.

Maka thinks he's a bastard, sometimes. And he's prone to thinking that she's a gigantic loser. But he's  _her_  bastard. And she's  _his_  loser.

And it hadn't half taken the idiots long enough to figure that out.

Of course, it was obvious to anyone who might have been watching them interact the past couple years. Hell, it  _should_  have been obvious to them. It had taken Maka an entire year to realize that the hot-and-flustered feeling she always seemed to get when he paraded round the apartment in just his jeans was  _attraction_ , plain and simple. And Soul wasn't any better. It took him a whole  _four_  years to realize that his instinct to die for her on the battlefield was more than a twisted sense of duty. It was his complete and utter devotion to her that kept him jumping off buildings after her and throwing himself in the way of endless explosions and attacks.

After that realization had been made, living together had become a relative breeze. Their relationship had quickly evolved to being weapon partners by the day and something else entirely in the evenings, when they were alone. Regular visits to each other's bedrooms had become a treasured thing, and the two of them could oft be spotted holding hands subtly in the corridors between classes.

Being a relatively new and undefined couple, they still had their limits.

Which is why Soul is not most keen to let Maka know that he's secretly listening to her chatter to her mom on the phone. Even though she's chosen to come in here for her phone call, the act still manages to make him feel like a creep.

"Canada! Wow, it sounds amazing!" she gushes, pausing for around ten seconds or so. "Yeah, I know! Isn't it neat?"

He wonders idly what exactly is neat as he flicks his thumbs and shoots a zombie on his screen in the head with a crash.

"No mama, that noise is just Soul playing Xbox." Maka glances at her weapon on the floor for a second before she frowns at something on the other end. "No, mama." She scowls, blushing. "It's not… it's not like that." She stands up and walks swiftly out the door and Soul's overcome with curiosity, now. Wasn't like  _what_?! "Not  _every_  guy is like papa," he manages to overhear Maka hiss in hushed tones before her bedroom door clicks shut.

Soul watches his character on the screen die a bloody and preventable death as his hands freeze and he glances at the door with a raised eyebrow, wondering why exactly he was being compared to that creep, Spirit. It certainly invited questions, and not the good kind.

In the safety of her own bedroom, she continues her conversation with her inquisitive mother.

"I know that, sweetie." Kami sighs. "Still, in my experience, it's not a good idea to get involved with your weapon partner. It happens all too often, and breakups can be messy."

"How can you say that?! You and papa were married for  _years_  before he… before the divorce." She self-censors, defensively crossing her arms.

"Maka, you know how I feel about your father. That isn't to say that we didn't have some good times, me and Spirit. And we had you, our precious daughter." Kami pauses for emphasis and Maka fiddles with her nails. "But it did complicate things. From what it sounds, you and Soul are well matched as partners. Be careful." Kami says, her tone shrouded in an aura of mystery.

"Well, it doesn't matter! It's not like that between us!" she splutters. She can practically  _hear_  her mother's knowing smile through the phone line.

"Okay, Maka, darling." She says warmly, accepting her daughter's sentiments, if not quite believing them. "Well, I'm certainly excited to meet him, and your other friends. How does September sound…?"

Maka gasps. " _Mama_! You're coming back?!" she doesn't manage to capture the excitement in her voice as it tumbles out of her. "How come?"

"I won't have any work assignments out here for a week or so. It'll be sometime in  _late_  September, hopefully. I'll keep you posted, darling. I'm expecting you to show me all around Death City, okay?"

"Mama, you know this city better than I do!" Maka laughs.

"I'm sure it's changed so much…" she answers a little wistfully. "It'll be nice to get out of the snow for a little while and back to the desert heat, anyway. Canada is so beautiful, but so very cold. I wish that you could come and visit me here. You'd love it."

Maka beams wildly. "I can't  _believe_  you're coming to visit!" she flaps her arms wildly around, just wishing that she didn't have to wait three months to see her #1 favorite parent. It had been around two years since she'd last seen her elusive mother, and those visits were always a particular highlight of hers. It was sure to be great, Maka thought. "I miss you, Mama."

"I've missed you  _too_ , sweetie. Can't wait to catch up. I'm sure you have so much to tell me!" her mother reciprocates. "I'm sorry, Maka, darling. I've got to run- I've got so much work to do."

"O-oh," Maka's smile falters. "So soon?"

"I'm sorry, Maka. I'm just so busy these days. Please, though, let's stay in touch! I love hearing about what you get up to, you know that." Her mother says, but she can hear that there's other voices surrounding her now. "I love you, Maka."

"Love you too, Ma. Speak to you soon. I can't wait for September!"

Her mother utters a few words in reciprocation and a final emotional goodbye, before the call is disconnected and Maka's suddenly alone in her bedroom again. Her sadness over the call being over is mitigated by a sense of glee over the fact that in just three months, her mother's going to be  _here_ , in Death City.

She must scream loudly into her pillow pretty loudly, because Soul appears to hear her from the midst of his game and knocks on her door.

"Uh, everything okay?" he asks tentatively from outside.

"Yes!" Maka squeals. "Sorry." She laughs deliriously, placing a calming hand on her own cheek. "I'm good."

* * *

Sometime around mid-July, he gets a phone call from his brother. It buzzes in his pocket sometime after class, on a warm summer evening.

He stares at the number for a few seconds, his eyebrows pulling together in a twinged frown. He briefly considers hanging up and shoving the phone back in his pocket, but Maka's standing next to him and leaning over in interest.

"Wes…?" she asks. "Isn't that your brother?"

Soul blinks. "Yes." He answers, dumbly.

"Aren't you going to answer him?" she asks, her voice dripping with innocence and her round olive orbs coming up to meet his, earnestly.

"Uh." He replies, eloquently as ever. "Yes." He holds the thing up to his ear and clears his throat. "Wes,"

"…hello, brother." The voice greets him on the other end, cold and clinical. Soul hides the shiver that runs through his spine and Maka watches his shoulders stiffen with growing curiosity. "How have you been?"

"Uh, fine." He says bluntly. Maka sends him a look, and he reluctantly adds: "… you?"

"Good! I'm good, thank you. It's been a while, hasn't it?" Wes asks a little redundantly to a dumbstruck Soul. "I'd love to catch up. But unfortunately, this isn't a social call. I've got some bad news."

He's unsurprised that Wes isn't calling for a chat. Neither Wes nor Soul had ever exactly been the 'phone for a chat' type. But bad news? "Oh?" Soul responds, his tone questioning.

"I thought it was best that I tell you, considering that you aren't on speaking terms with mother or father." Wes explains. Was Soul just imagining the patronizing tone present there? "It's Grandma. She passed away, last night. In her sleep." Wes delivers the news, a hint of sadness creeping in. "Sorry, to be the bearer of bad news. You know how she had been sick for a little while."

Soul stops in his tracks and freezes, his expression indeterminable.

"Okay," he replies, a little unsure. "Mother okay?" he mutters, watching Maka's eyes widen next to him. She's new to the very concept of Soul even  _having_  a mother, let alone talking about her openly.

"Oh… you know how she is." Wes says vaguely. "She's coping, I believe. Copious wine seems to be helping, thus far."

Soul grimaces. No changes there, then.

"Right." He enunciates. "Thanks for telling me, Wes." He grits out his longest sentence so far, about to hang up the call- but Wes stops him.

"Soul! Soul. Before you go- look, I know it's a long shot. But… mother wanted me to invite you to the funeral." Wes tells him.

"Wes, if you think I'm driving to  _Sacramento_ -" Soul starts, being cut off.

"Please, at least consider it. For my sake, at least. God knows it would be nice to have some company- you know how these family events tend to be…"

Soul snorts. "Thought you  _relished_  them."

"Hmph." Wes hums in rebuttal. "Anyway, it's going to be at the church near their mansion. Next Sunday, around afternoon- if you do decide to come." He adds. "Feel free to bring the girl. She's invited, too. Mother insisted." He sighs. "Who knows why."

"Alright. Wes," Soul drawls in his familiar disinterested fashion. "Bye." He clicks the phone shut and shoves it back in his pocket.

Maka raises her eyebrows as if she's expecting him to be forthcoming, but when he doesn't say anything, she probes him.

"What was that about?" she wonders aloud.

"My grandmother died. She's having a funeral next week, I guess." Soul tells her dispassionately. Maka's mouth falls open in shock and surprise.

"Soul, I'm so sorry!" she touches his arm instinctively. "Are you okay?"

He shrugs. "Weren't that close. She wasn't a big fan of me, when she was alive." He answers, truthfully. "Still. She was an okay lady, sometimes. I doubt I'll go." He admits, and Maka draws away from him, horrified.

"You aren't going to  _go_?" she says, incredulous. "Why not?"

"It's a long drive." He reasons, keeping the real reasons from her. "Lot of effort, for one day and what promises to be a frankly depressing event." He yawns into his hand. "Look, I'm tired. Can we talk about this another time?" he drags his feet.

"Soul!" she scolds him. "You  _have_  to go." She shakes her head, as if she's decided that she's not budging on the topic. "I mean it!"

He rolls his eyes. "No offence, but you don't know my family."

"I don't care! She's your grandmother, and she's died. You owe it to her to honor her!" Maka insists. "Soul! Are you listening to me?"

"Hm." He hums, shrugging. "My mother invited you." He mentions. He isn't quite sure why he brings that up, but he feels the need to share the bizarre-ness with somebody. Maka, however, takes it as an acceptance and clasps her hands together in decision-making mode.

"That's settled then. We're going to go. I'm free next week." Maka arm drops down and she grabs hold of his hand; squeezes it once in solidarity. "Soul, it's going to be okay. It can't be  _that_  bad," she offers a warm smile and a peck on the lips, which admittedly does cheer him up a little.

He kisses her back, longer and lingering. More lingering, though, is the thought that rattles around in the back of his head. The thought that for once, she was wrong. It most definitely  _could_ and _would_ be that bad.


	2. meet the parents

Soul and Maka stare up at the house in front of them, from which only a set of wrought iron gates separates them. It seems to stretch on endlessly; the front garden is impeccably looked after- the grass is beautifully lush and green, and all and any errant wildlife is well-tamed and perfectly placed to create the suburban scenery. Maka wrinkles up her nose by accident; she wasn't a fan of such well-kept gardens. She preferred something a little more… natural.

The house itself is stunning, however. A large and ornate mansion tucked behind rows of conifer trees- it looks like the house probably has its own history, but much like the front garden, it's been well looked after. It even has Tudor-style black painted pillars which stand proud amongst layers of red brick and rows and rows of skinny gothic windows.

Maka stares, agape.

" _This_  is your parent's house…?"

She hadn't known what to expect on the drive over here. In the eight hours they'd been on the road, several different scenarios had gone through her head. She'd dreamily imagined one where his parents had lived in a cute little humble cottage with a thatched roof, and maybe some chickens. She'd abandoned that one when she remembered how Soul once idly mentioned his parent's ballroom in passing, (as if that was something totally normal). Then, she'd re-imagined a cold, dilapidated tall mansion with a pointed roof, from some sort of horror movie. But then, Soul didn't seem to like his old home, and she knew how he loved gothic architecture. She'd then created an image of a white villa-like California home, laden with palm trees and shrouded by a big blue swimming pool.

She seems to have been wrong on all counts. His home wasn't horror-esque, ultra-slick OR twee. It was, for all intents and purposes, a pretty normal looking (for a filthy rich person, anyway) family manor.

She glances behind them, at Soul's beaten up 88 Mazda 323 parked on the road outside. In Death City, the dated car almost faded into the background, but in this neighborhood, it stood out like a sore thumb. She'd tried to convince him to take her slightly newer 03 Corolla (a gift from her father), but he hadn't budged.  _It's an eight-hour journey_ , he'd said.  _I'm gonna take a car I know I can drive._ Besides. Hers was an automatic, and Soul was a stick-driving purist. She just counted herself lucky he hadn't taken the damned motorbike. Her hair would  _not_  have agreed with eight hours of being stuffed into a tiny, sweaty helmet.

"Should we park somewhere else?" she asks, a little self-conscious. "I mean. Your car. It's a little… jarring." She adds with a tweak of her eyebrow.

"Whatever." He shrugs. "It'll be fine, there. I doubt there'll be any space in the garage for it, anyhow."

The garage…? Maka stares up at the house, suddenly unnerved by the prospect of actually going in. Only a small part of her begins to regret convincing Soul to come to this thing at all, and a slightly bigger part of her regrets joining him. The drive up here hadn't exactly been fun, either. She may have gotten used to riding on the back of Soul's orange Harley, but behind the wheel of a car… he was downright  _scary_.

It was just her luck, to date a car nut. He'd found that beater of his dirt-cheap at a garage in Nevada, and spent months tinkering with the thing. It was now capable of driving far faster than Maka ever wanted to; not to mention the way he insisted on haphazardly  _throwing_  the thing into every corner with glee.

She shudders, realizing that they'd been standing in stasis outside the gates for a couple of minutes, now.

"Are we gonna…?"

Soul shoots a grim look. "Fine."

As Soul heavily walks through the gates, Maka trepidatious in tow, she suddenly begins to miss the cosy familiarity of the vehicle. She gives one last glance back before they reach the large wooden doors. Soul reaches out and slams his knuckles against them, twice.

"Do I look okay?" she asks, redundantly. Not like she could change it now. "Soul?"

He glances at her and nods firmly after a glance. "Yep."

She'd decided to wear her hair down and wear an old knee-length black frock adorned with a white, round collar at the neckline. It wasn't showy, but then again, this  _was_  a funeral. Suddenly she begins to doubt herself, wondering if it was too childish. Or maybe too formal? Not formal enough? She eyes up Soul, who just donned that black suit that he always wears, not even bothering with a tie, his blazer slung under his arm. In his defense, California in July could be unrelentingly hot. He hadn't even gone so far as to iron his white shirt, but last night she'd snuck into his room and ironed it for him; hung it out nicely on a hanger so it wasn't creased.

There's a pause of about thirty long seconds, but eventually Maka hears someone coming to the door on the other side, the opening of another door, and then the click of the doorknob.

It swings open and standing on the other side- Maka swears- is Soul's taller, somehow more suave  _doppelganger._

"Soul!" the doppelganger exclaims. "Good to see you, brother. You look… different." Their voices are different, Maka thinks. Soul's brother's accent is far more affected, formal. "I was beginning to doubt that you would come."

Soul frowns. "I told you," he crosses his arms. "Last week."

"Right, right." Wes smiles, his deep wine-colored eyes shifting over to Maka. "And you must be the girl. I'm Wesley, or just Wes." He smiles politely. Maka sticks out her hand and shakes his tentatively. "It's good to finally meet you."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Maka." Her voice trembles a little bit with nerves. "Soul's… friend at the academy."

"Oh, that's right. You're partners, aren't you?" Wes chuckles. "I'm sorry that you've been saddled with the burden of my sullen brother." He jerks a thumb towards a scowling Soul with an easy smile. Maka giggles against her better instincts, relieved that Wes evidently had a sense of humor- that was something she could deal with.

"Oh, he's not always so bad." She purses his lips together, as Wes stands to one side and lets them inside. "I'm so sorry to hear about your grandmother." She offers, hoping that it doesn't sound like a meaningless platitude. She stares in awe at her surroundings as Wes leads them through the house. The high ceilings, the intricate wallpapered hallway; each twist and corner punctuated with dark wooden ornate end tables

"Ah, thank you." Wes nods, hesitating as if he wants to say something else on the topic, but censoring himself. "Where are your overnight bags?" he asks.

"Car," Soul answers quickly. "Left it out front."

Wes nods. "Soul, do you want to bring it round the back? You can throw your stuff in the guest bedroom. While you do, I'll show Maka around and introduce her to the family." He offers. "There's only a couple people here, so far. A few more people will arrive later, and some are meeting us at the church." Wes explains. Maka's a little relieved. "And Rosa, of course."

Soul frowns. "I think the old man might flip if my shitty car breathed the same airspace as the Aston." He jokes, a little unsurely. Maka's eyes pop out her skull.  _Does he mean an Aston Martin?_  "Actually second thoughts, that sounds great." He sends Maka a sly grin. "You okay here for the minute?" he asks her, and she nods with a big fake smile. "Okay." He turns on his heel and goes back out the front to move his vehicle as he hears Wes continue to smooth-talk his partner with a little unhappiness.

"Would you like anything to eat or drink, Maka?"

"No, I'm good, thanks." She smiles politely. "So, uh, is it just your parents living here?" she keeps peering around her at the flawlessly decorated house.

"That's right. I moved out a few years ago, now I live with my fiancée in Los Angeles."

"What do you do for a living?" she wonders. "Oh wait, I think Soul mentioned. You play the piano, too?"

"Violin, actually. I'm a composer and performer. Sometimes I play with the California Philharmonic." He answers, having the good grace to look modest. "So, Maka. Tell me about yourself. What does your family do? Where are you from? I bet you have an interesting backstory." Wes takes her into a large, open-plan minimalist monochrome kitchen and walks over to the far left as he speaks, pulling a bottle of red wine from the second row of an extensive wine rack and examining it studiously.

"Oh! My mama and papa were both students of the DWMA. They met there, as weapon partners. My papa was originally from Maryland, where I grew up. My mother's half-Japanese on my grandmothers' side. She grew up in Kagoshima, a rural town in Japan. Now she travels the world, and my father works at the academy. They're divorced, now."

Wes's eyes spring up in surprise. It isn't the first time, actually. Maka didn't exactly look a quarter Japanese, but once you knew it- you couldn't un-see it.

"Really? I've never been to Maryland, or Japan. I would love to go someday. To both," he pours Maka a very full glass of red wine and slides it over to her across the counter. "I would recommend you drink it, before you meet our parents." He advises, his voice reminding her of Soul's at that moment.

"R-really?"

"They can be… intense. I'm sure Soul will have told you." He sighs. Maka sips at the wine anxiously. "Don't be nervous, you'll do just fine. Don't let me scare you, anyway. See for yourself."

"Okay." She nods compliantly. "Is your… is your fiancée here, too?"

He sends her a knowing look. "Yes my fiancée Lauren. She's arriving later, I think." Wes smiles. "Anyway. I think it's about time I introduced you to everyone." He confidently gestures toward yet another door and she hesitantly follows, being walked into a further drawing room. How many  _were_  there…?

Maka idly remembers something from earlier. "Who is Rosa?" she asks.

"Rosa is our family maid. She watched Soul and I grow up."

Maka gulps. A family maid? How much more bourgeois could Soul's family get?

"Alright." Wes leads her to a small painted black door and knocks once before pushing it open and stepping through. "Here we are."

It's like stepping into some sort of alternate universe. The room they step into has very different feel to the ones she's paraded through so far. It's all dark oak and ornate decorative furniture; heavy dark velvet curtains and sprawling chaise-lounges. In one of the corners of the room, there's an obscenely clean large mirror with a thick, baroque black frame and obliquely in front of it, a huge grand piano.

It reminds her of the Black Room, she thinks; perturbed.

On one of the armchairs perches a slim, beautiful woman- who couldn't be older than forty- with ivory-white locks which are swept behind her back and tumble down her right shoulder. Her features are pronounced and sharp. When she spots Wes with Maka, stands up and walks towards them, her glass of wine matching the one Maka left on the kitchen counter. As she gets closer, Maka can smell her cloying, musky perfume.

She's… impossibly glamorous, for an older woman. Her hair is pristine, she wears this gorgeous silk, ebony gown which slashes across her collarbones and reaches her elbows before tapering off; the skirt flowing neatly to her calves and revealing a shiny pair of court heels. Suddenly, she feels underdressed and self-conscious.

"Mother, this is Maka. Soul's partner from the academy." Wes presents their guest and Maka's throat feels immediately dry. "Maka, this is our mother." His voice is suddenly different, unfriendly and cold- not like how it had been earlier. "Soul is just bringing his car around."

The woman gives Maka a cold once-over and a thin smile breaks out over her lips.

"Didn't you tell him that we'd  _send_  a car for him?" She asks. Wes opens his mouth and then closes it, realizing that such a question didn't warrant an answer. "Typical of him to be as obtuse as possible." She bemoans, her eyes sliding back on over to Maka. " _Maka_ , did you say? It's a pleasure to meet you." She nods in acknowledgement but doesn't stick a hand out to shake. "Didn't you fix her with a drink, Wes?"

"It's n-nice to meet you, Mrs Evans. I'm sorry to hear about your mother-in-law." She says, willing her voice not to tremble. "I, um, left my drink in the kitchen," she takes a step back. She's never felt intimidation like this in her life, not even when facing Asura. "I'll just go and get it."

"Nonsense." She snaps her fingers at Wes. "Wes, be a dear and fetch the poor girls drink." She sits back down on the seat and gestures for Maka to join her as Wes obediently disappears. "Maka, darling. Do sit down."

She perches down on one of the deceptively hard armchairs and smooths down her skirt in front of her, clearing her throat. "You have a lovely home. I can't believe this is where Soul grew up," she comments, wondering if that's the right thing to say.

"No?" she questions. "Why not?"

Maka's not prepared for a follow-up and she balks.

"I just meant that it's so… beautiful here, that's all. It's not like Death City, that's for sure!"

" _Death_  City." Soul's mother raises her glass to her lips and takes a protracted sip. "That's where the academy is located, I assume? What a morbid name." she comments drily. "God knows why Soul wants to live in some godforsaken backwater town in the middle of the Nevada desert, rather than here in Sacramento. Or Los Angeles, like his brother."

"Oh, it's actually quite nice." She defends her city. "It's a little old, though. Cobbled together."

Soul's mother eyes her suspiciously. "Where are you from, then? Maka is an unusual name."

"Maryland." She replies, deciding not to go into detail, like she had with Wes. "Just outside Baltimore."

"Oh." She wrinkles up her nose in obvious distaste. "I've heard it's not too safe over there."

"Well, it's not very safe in Death City, either." She reasons. "Besides, I think it has a bad reputation. I miss the east coast." She says, realising after the look that Maka's mother gives her, that it was the wrong thing to say. "And the West coast, too." She adds hastily, as she hears someone entering the room behind her. She watches as Soul's mother's gaze fixes intently on the door with a small smile.

"You've grown up, haven't you?" she remarks, standing up once again. Maka frowns and turns around to find that it's the younger brother, not the elder, whose just entered the room. Wes appears behind Soul in the door frame. When they're side by side, Maka thinks to herself that they really  _did_  look spookily alike. It prompts her to wonder for a second why everybody in the Evans family had white hair- she had figured Soul was albino.

"Hello," he offers, not sure what else to say. After all, this is his estranged mother he's talking to- four years was a long time not to see or speak to the woman that birthed you. His mother sweeps towards him and peers closely at her son, her eyes narrow and secretive.

"Soul," his mother states rather plainly, unmoving. "It's good to see you. It was nice of you to bring your girlfriend. I wanted to meet her." She pauses, for melodramatic effect. "It's just a pity that it took a  _death_  in the family to get you to visit." She remarks snidely. There's a sudden and noticeable air of tension in the room.

Wes frowns and jumps in, ever the diplomat. "Soul, you must be so busy, these days. We all miss having you around. You'll have to tell us some of your stories, later on. I bet you have some good ones." He tries to soften the sharp words of his mother, but Soul's expression remains unconvinced.

All eyes lie on Soul, who looks extremely uncomfortable with the situation. "Where is everybody else?" he asks, the words spoken awkwardly, as if he had just wanted to say something to fill the gap.

"Aunt Elsa and your cousins are in the dining room, and your father is in his study." She waves away, taking a step towards him. "You've changed." His mother tells him, informatively. "Your hair is too long, it looks messy. You should think about getting it cut. And that shirt is too big for you. Slim fit always suited you better, darling, you know that." she comments, sipping at her mahogany wine.

Maka's eyebrows twitch upwards. Four  _years_ , and that's what she had to say to her youngest son?

"He looks fine, mother." Wes drawls, turning to their guests. "Soul, Maka- we're going to leave for the funeral at around five. Will you two be ready for then?"

Maka nods and Soul shrugs. "Sure."

Somebody knocks on the door at that point, cutting off their conversation. Soul's mother strides elegantly forward to answer it, her neat heels clip-clopping against the hardwood floor as she goes. Maka gets a whiff of her strong perfume in her wake and tries desperately to hold in a sneeze.

Wes's eyes are trained on his little brother, who exhales through a small gap in his mouth.

"Why am I here, again?" Soul laughs, half-bitterly and half-relieved now that the tension has just walked out.

"She's just upset about Grandma. Just ignore her, Soul. Besides; she'd never admit it, but she really  _has_  missed you." Wes reasons. Soul laughs a little gruffly, as if his brother has made a particularly amusing joke. "I bet that's Lauren. I had better go and save her from Mom." He glances worriedly to the door and then politely excuses himself afterwards, leaving Soul and Maka standing in the large drawing room, alone.

"Jesus," Maka starts, a little lost for words. "I, uh… your brother seems nice," she tries, vaguely, to form a positive outlook.

"Look, I tried to warn you. My family is  _prickly_." Soul holds his palms up. "I'm not exactly the favorite child."

"You  _did_  leave for four years." She puts her hand on his shoulder. "You're the prodigal son."

"Even before that." He says, emotional flooding into his voice as he scowls and breaks her gaze. "Look. Forget it." He's angry, now, as he turns on his heel and stomps out of the room. "I need to take a leaf out of my mother's book."

"Wait… what? What are you doing?" she calls after him, feeling a little stupid.

"I'm going to get  _drunk_." He enunciates and disappears from her view altogether.

The funeral itself is blessedly short. The atmosphere is sad- despite the things that Soul's said in the past, it seems as though his late grandmother had been a widely-adored woman, while she was alive. There's at least sixty people present, some family and some not. Rows of old ladies dressed in lacy black with matching veiled hats frequently dab at their eyes with tissues.

Maka barely has time before the service to meet the other members of Soul's family, but nothing really stands out. He does exchange some terse words with his father, who Maka thinks might be the most terrifying man she's ever met in her life. The man barely looks at her, let  _alone_  says hello. Soul informs her later that he once told him, in no uncertain terms, that he believed weapons and meisters were freaks- demonic aberrations of nature and a stain on society in general.

Maka notes that she'll avoid him.

She can't tell what Soul's thinking throughout the funeral itself. He has his emotions totally on lockdown today, so while she sits and intently listens to the various people speak about the mysterious  _Bella_   _Evans_ , he sits with his arms folded and his facial expression frustratingly blank.

Soul's mother stands up to speak towards the end, giving her eulogy. It's fine, a little theatrical for Maka's tastes- but who is Maka to judge the intonation of a grieving woman? At one point, she mentions her own mother's deep love of classical music- and her particular soft spot for Wes' violin concertos. Maka feels Soul's body go all tense and she reaches for his hand; squeezes it once. He'd seemed surprised by the gesture, but shoots her a grateful look all the same. She thinks it must be hard for him, being compared to his brother all the time. She guesses that in that way, she's lucky to be an only child. In her parents eyes; she was incomparable.

At the end of the service, Soul's enigmatic father announces that there's a gathering at their house after the funeral, for all those attending. Maka shudders at the sound of his voice- low and booming (that's where Soul got his deep baritone from, then). He's quite a formidable man- the only one of Soul's nuclear family that doesn't have that trademark white hair, his is a short, choppy black cut.

As they file out of the church, Maka reaches up and kisses Soul on the cheek and rubs his arm.

"That was brief," she comments, her voice quiet amongst murmured apologies and condolences all around. "So, everyone's going back to your parents place?"

"I guess." He shrugs, as they begin to notice a group of women gawking shamelessly at him. One of them, a petite older lady, walks up to him and taps him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me. Your hair…" she starts, as he quirks an eyebrow. "Are you a relative of the deceased? I don't recognize you…" she explains.

"She was my grandmother," he replies. The lady's eyebrows fly up in surprise.

"Oh, my goodness! Surely you aren't  _Marcella's_  boy? Wesley's little brother?" she asks, as the other ladies in the group begin to listen in, too.

"Uh, yep." He replies, a touch unnerved by all the attention he's never been comfortable with.

"So… is it true? You can turn into a weapon?" she asks. Soul nods and briefly makes eye contact with Maka, who watches with some bemusement. "Wow!" she shakes her head. "So  _amazing_. I was Bella's good friend. I knew your grandfather, when he was alive. He was a weapon, too!" she gushes, awe in her eyes. A little crowd is beginning to form around them and there's a few murmurs and whispers flying around. "I'm so sorry about your grandmother." She adds, almost as an afterthought.

_"Is that Soul Evans?"_

_"Who's that kid?"_

_"That's Marcella's boy… he looks like Wes."_

_"He plays the piano, I think. I think I remember him. He looks older than I remember…"_

"Come on, come on, everyone. There'll be time for chatting, later." Soul's mother herself appears somewhere, dispersing the crowd easily. "We'd better get heading back, now." Her face is pure steel, betraying no sign of the sadness that had become her during her speech. Most of the people who were listening to Soul's conversation suddenly seem to forget about it, and continue walking out the church uninterrupted, except the older lady.

"Marcella, I was just speaking to your son. It's so fabulous that he's inherited the weapon gene from your father, don't you think?" she praises. "What wonderful boys you have. You must be so proud of both of them," she smiles. Soul's mother's eyes narrow over at Soul and she bites her lip, as if holding something back.

"Yes. So proud." She drawls. "Did you know, Wesley is the youngest violinist ever to play with the California philharmonic?" she changes the subject, her eyes tearing away from her youngest son, who stares at the floor. His expression is somewhere between anger and apathy as his eyebrow stay fixed in a halfway frown, thinking.

Soul feels a little too hot in the room, his head starts to hurt. He briefly wonders if he's had too much wine- but no, he can't have, because despite four years having passed and all the things he's achieved at Shibusen,  _that_  still hurts way too acutely for his liking.

He's interrupted from his thoughts as Maka takes his hand, laces their fingers together and hisses something in his ear.

"C'mon, let's get some air." She says, practically dragging him out of the church. He follows her, obedient as ever, with the others who are traipsing through the courtyard and presumably back to Soul's family home. Somewhere, Soul can hear the familiar sound of Wes being charming to someone or rather.

Maka pulls him by the arm away from the group and down a small gap in the side of the church building; where they're effectively hidden from view. "Hey, Soul." She takes both his hands in front hers and scrutinizes his expression. "Don't… don't worry about her. They have no idea what we do, at the academy." She says. "I mean it."

He goes for a half-smile as a ragged sigh comes out from buried deep within his chest. "Yeah, I know." She leans forward onto her tiptoes and cups his stubble-y face in her hands. "Maka, I'm really fine." He tells her, flatly. "I'm… I'm used to it."

She ignores him, pulls him into a tight embrace. She's always been good at that, comforting people. It wasn't often that Soul was at the receiving end- he didn't often need comforting. He watched it happen to others, from afar. Tsubaki, when Black Star time and time again proved oblivious to her affections. Crona, through all her trauma with her mother.

Soul feels a pang of embarrassment. He shouldn't need comforting like this, this was  _his_  job. As if sensing his discomfort, Maka whispers in his ear.

"When my father and mother were getting divorced, I kept telling myself that I hated my papa, and that I didn't care what he did with other women. I said to myself that he was a worthless cheater, and that I shouldn't give him the time of day," she starts, parting from the hug and staring into his fiercely red eyes. "I was lying. Every time I saw him at Chupacabra's, or with another woman who wasn't mama, it hurt. It still does, honestly." She recounts, a little melancholy. "My point is: it sucks, and I get it. You're  _allowed_  to feel like it sucks."

Soul exhales a puff of breath in a sort of relieved laugh.

"Alright," he shrugs. "It sucks." He repeats, as if she's bestowed some great wisdom onto him. Honestly, just admitting it makes him feel slightly better. "Heh, thanks, Maka. I'm sorry that you're dragged into all this." He sighs. "I guess it's… good that I'm here. I'm glad you're here, too."

She waves him off good-naturedly and her hand drops down to his, brushing against it. He leans into her and presses a brief kiss against her mouth. "C'mon, Soul. We should get back to the others." She giggles and shivers as he drops his head to her neck and begins to absently pepper kisses along her collarbone.

"Can't we just… stay here," he drawls, half into the nape of her neck. She sighs and relaxes into his touch. She supposes that a few minutes wouldn't make  _too_  much of a difference.


	3. lisztomania

Maka's never really been into music, not like other people were. She liked upbeat tempos, easy beats and repetitive tunes. She almost never listened to music for her own enjoyment, rather for something in the background while she did physical training. When quizzed, she would have said her favourite genre was trance, which always seemed to elicit a facepalm or an eye-roll from either Liz and Soul- the two biggest music purists she knew.

She remembers when she'd first heard Soul play, all those years ago. Back before they'd become something more than just partners and when they hardly knew one another. That dark piece- she'd enjoyed it, but not in the sense that someone might listen to a song they enjoyed on their headphones. Something about the way he played; his raw emotion and feeling channeled directly into the keys… she'd known, then, that he was the right partner for her.

So when Soul's family insist on adjourning to the music room to play some tunes, she's pretty ambivalent about the whole thing. He's  _less_  than happy, in fact the look on his face indicates that he's pretty damn miserable about it. On the walk back, she keeps her hand clasped tightly round his, not letting go. Even when the family files into their drawing room, she's reluctant to release her grip but does so as they find a large plush couch to plop themselves down on.

She listens patiently to a whole forty minutes of various members of Soul's extended family play their instruments. Two of the most memorable ones was when one of his female cousins played a swing piece on the saxophone, which Maka rather uncharacteristically found herself swinging along to. Another young cousin, probably around 11, plays a lovely sounding piece on the flute. Everyone claps and compliments them after they're finished, and Maka wryly looks around at them, wondering whether this was really their idea of  _fun_.

"Wes, you must play for us." Someone eventually pipes up-  _an aunt, maybe?_ Maka's lost track. "I've been looking forward to hearing you play all day!"

Marcella practically preens as Wes stands up, having the good grace to look a little abashed.

He fiddles with a long black case and pulls out his instrument. There's a few gasps, 'oohs' and 'ahs' and even Soul exhibits a physical reaction, his eyebrows twitching. Maka turns to him, an inquisitive look on her face.

"Is that a  _Stradivarius_?" he asks his brother, stirring as his eyebrows knit together. "How the hell did you…?"

Wes offers a smile. "I wish!" he exclaims. "It's a Guarneri, Stradivarius model." he gestures to Marcella. "This was a birthday present from mother,"

Maka hisses to Soul, privately. "What's the difference?"

"About 100th of the price," He smirks back. "Still, that violin is worth at least twenty grand." He sits back. Maka balks. 20 grand! For a piece of wood! Soul senses her disgust, and he grins. "The grand piano is worth five times that."

She's not able to process this before Wes begins playing his violin. The sound is instantly captivating; slow and austere but simultaneously uplifting and soft. Despite her aforementioned lack of musical expertise, Maka finds herself lost in the introspective melody which oscillates from the strings. He plays for at least five minutes- but the time seems to fly by, and when he's finishes, Maka finds herself wanting  _more_.

"He's gotten better," Soul mutters, and Maka's not sure if he's happy or angry of that fact. Wes does a little self-deprecating bow as his family applauds and Maka finds herself joining in.

"That was astounding, Wesley." One of the women from the funeral comments. "I don't recognize it. Who is the composer?"

"Thank you, Elizabeth." Wes looks a little embarrassed. "That was one of my recent compositions, actually."

"Wow! You write your own music, too?"

"I try to." He smiles thinly. "Although my younger brother has been writing his own music since he was twelve. I would love to hear what he's been up to." Wes lifts his violin carefully off his shoulder and places it back inside the case, doing up the clips to keep it safe and placing a hand on his hips.

The same woman turns to Soul, now. "Will you be playing, as well?"

Cue excited muttering.

Soul's eyebrows spring up and he's about to shake his head, ' _no'_  when Wes jumps in.

"Come on, Soul. It's been years. I'd like to hear you."

Maka joins in. "I'd like to hear too, Soul!"

"I haven't written anything in years," he excuses doubtfully, walking hesitantly to the grand piano in the centre of the room and sitting down on the stool. "Who should I play?" he asks absently, running his hands over the keys in a quick minor scale.

"Chopin." His mother answers choppily. "Or Stravinsky." She suggests, her voice somewhat cold.

Soul thinks to himself that his unpractised fingers aren't going do Chopin any justice, so he settles on the slightly easier Liebestraum from distant memory, his fingers moving deftly over the keys. He surprises himself by how he recalls the piece in most of its entirety- he never was very good at remembering subjects for school but  _this_ … this was a skill that seemed to stick with him. That said, he misses a few notes here and there. A room filled with any other group of people wouldn't have noticed, but a room full Evans family members certainly did. Soul visibly winces each time it happens, which is the only way Maka even knows he's done it wrong.

Maka watches, affixed to his fingers. It's so unlike the Soul that she knows. She never sees him concentrate this hard, and she realises with a start that she's never really seem him being the centre of attention, before, either. It doesn't suit him. The music itself doesn't seem to suit him, either. There's something too… light-hearted about it, something sweet and easy-listening. It's nothing like the brooding piano piece he'd played to her when they'd first met, nor the chaotic pieces he'd played inside the black room during chain resonance.

He forgets the last few lines, so he ends up improvising something and finishing on a strange note, a little deflated.

The room fills with expected applause, including his mother. Some of his extended family, the younger ones, seem surprised. Maka supposes that they've never heard him play, not since he left.

"I see you've remembered your classics." She nods, with approval. "You're slack on the rubato- it was a little mawkish. I think you need to keep up with practice. Do you have a way to play at that…  _academy_?"

Soul grimaces. "There's a piano at the DWMA. But I don't go there often." He admits. His mother opens her mouth like a fish, about to say something else. Wes cuts in before she manages.

"Very nice, little brother, but not like  _you_. Why don't you play something else?" Wes sends an amused glance to his brother. "Scriabin, or Bartok, perhaps? Something more atonal, that's really more your shtick, isn't it?"

Oh, how his mother would  _despise_  that.

"Fine," he drawls, grinning, and launches into Liszt's Mazeppa.

It's a song which is loud and unapologetic in its clanging, jarring melody. It reminds Maka of the piece he played in battle and she can't help but smile as she watches his hands dance over his instrument; in his element. This time, he's allowing himself just the slightest bit of enjoyment from his playing.

He cuts it short, only plays for around three minutes instead of the full seven. The ending to the song is defiant and thundering, ringing in Maka's ears after his foot has come off the pedal in an overtly pleasant manner. This was  _Soul_ , she thinks.

The room seems taken aback for a second or two after the performance, but then bursts into energetic applause. "Wow," Maka hears one of his uncles say. "It's such an  _angry_  piece. Not one of his most popular compositions."

Soul closes the piano lid and stands up, as Marcella smiles at him, radiating approval.

"Not the piece I would have gone with, but I'm glad that you've remembered your Liszt. You played well, Soul. Although your glissandos were a little stiff."

Maka's blood boils, and she's not sure why. Something about the patronising tone in Marcella's voice, the way that she's been treating him all day. The way she assumes that Soul even cares about her assessment of his work; combined with Soul's slightly sad acknowledgement of her comment- and it makes her want to speak out.

She begins to say something, but quickly realises that it's not the time. Instead, she turns it into: "Do you play an instrument, Marcella?"

She regrets the question immediately- of  _course_  Marcella plays, that was his family's legacy, wasn't it?

The woman sends a vague hint of a smile and shrugs. "My voice is my instrument, dear. Although I do play a little piano, too." She sniffs. "I won't be singing today." She turns the question back on Maka. "What about yourself?"

Maka swallows. "Er, no. I don't play anything. I really like Soul's music, though!" she attempts to inject enthusiasm into her voice.

 _Oof_. That felt like the wrong thing to say. Maka feels Soul's father's eyes boring a hole into her skull from across the room- it's the first time he's really looked at her, since they arrived.

"Oh really? What about it intrigues you?"

It feels like the whole room is waiting patiently for her answer, now.

"It, um. It sounds… nice." She finishes, trying her best to be unoffensive. Soul audibly groans next to her. Marcella raises a quick eyebrow but again, Wes comes to Maka's rescue, chuckling amiably.

"You're the first person I've ever heard say  _that_!" he laughs. Maka exhales for a second, and shrugs.

"Well, perhaps 'nice' isn't the exact word." She admits. "But it's… intriguing. I always want to hear more; it's almost like his music is a reflection of him." She says, pensively. "You know, it's the reason that we're partners, actually. There was something dark and soothing about this piece he played me… I knew that we would get along."

"That's lovely!" someone croons from the crowd. "Soul, you should play us your own composition some time. When you're next back in the state!" Maka recognizes the voice as one of Soul's younger cousins. Soul gives a vague nod and a shrug in their direction, but he's already shrinking away from the room; the attention. People start to chatter around them, but Marcella's gaze remains locked on Maka.

Marcella scoffs, taking a sip of wine. "That's  _lovely_." She comments, sarcasm overflowing in her tone. "How fitting that Soul's music could only be enjoyed by a philistine." She offers a low chuckle. "You two make a perfect pair."

Soul doesn't react outwardly, but Maka suspects that he's keeping the emotion out of his face deliberately. She  _knows_  him.

She balls her fists as if to speak out, but Soul knows  _her_ , too.

"Maka…" he warns now, his voice low. "Come on. Please excuse us for just a second," he says vaguely to those around him, and drags her up along with him by the arm, leading her out of the room

When the heavy oak door shuts behind them, Maka hisses to him.

"What are you doing?" she frowns. "Why are you dragging me out here? It looks weird! Besides, why are you letting her criticize you like that?"

"Just… don't let her rile you up." He warns. "Trust me, it's best for everyone. I'd rather not cause a scene."

Maka crosses her arms over her chest defensively. "I wasn't going to cause a scene. Besides- the woman called me a  _philistine_!"

Soul chuckles at her indignance despite his situation. "She's right, there." he comments drily. Maka bristles and gently mock-punches him on the arm. "Hey!"

"I am not! I like  _your_  music, don't I?"

"Yeah, only because it's mine, and you love me." He jokes. Maka rolls her eyes, right on cue. "Whatever. I needed a break, anyway. This entire day has been exhausting."

"Yep." Maka agrees. "I sort of miss being in your beat-up car, listening to your rubbish CDs." She allows herself a small laugh. Soul clutches his chest, as if in agony.

"Only  _you_  would call  _Bob Dylan_  rubbish."

"Whatever." She deadpans. "I'm just a philistine, remember?"

There's a moment of silence between them, and Maka takes a candid step towards her partner, hooks her arms under his shoulders and pulls him closer. "I'm sorry about your mother." She voices.

Soul sighs.

"She's always been a perfectionist. And with one perfect son, and one imperfect one- well, do the math." He blows air out his cheeks, tiredly.

"You're not-"

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Don't get me wrong, I don't think about it so much anymore. They've always had crazy high standards. I guess it was my fault for being born with red eyes and sharp teeth," he bares them for a second, proving his point. "And then, for being… less interested in the whole music thing." He bites his lip. "Or at least, not in the classics, really."

Maka listens intently, basking in the rarity of Soul stringing together so many sentences into one. He continues. "My mother… I think she cares, in her own twisted way. She's too influenced by my father."

"Your dad?" Maka questions the lesser-seen man. "What's he like, then?"

"He only really cares about legacy. Purity; the history behind music, that kind of thing." Soul scratches his head. "I'm fairly sure that he considered me dead the second I decided to leave and go the academy. Maybe even before then, who knows." He shrugs, as if it couldn't possibly matter. "We never got along." He pauses. "My grandmother was the only one who really supported me enrolling at the academy. We never saw eye to eye on music, but she at least recognized that it wasn't what I wanted to do with my life. The nicest things she ever said to me were after she found out I was a weapon- I think I reminded her of my late grandfather, in a way."

Maka feels a pang of sympathy and stands on her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his lips, which he receives graciously. The kiss is sweet, chaste and lingering but rudely interrupted by a delicate cough coming from the arch of the door.

Soul and Maka pull apart rapidly. "Jesus, Wes." Soul mutters. "Trying to kill me?"

"In my defence, I'm not the one who snuck away to make out." Wes seems amused. Maka's face burns bright red.

"What are you doing here?"

"I went to check on you. I was worried that you might've let mother get to you." He explains. "But now I see that I needn't have fretted." He smiles. "So. How long have you two been together? I have to confess, I had guessed when I met you two earlier."

Maka answers for her scowling partner. "Just a few months…"

"Well, all the best. You seem nice together. Although I have no idea how you put up with all the grouchiness."

Maka smiles sweetly. "And I don't understand how  _you_  put up with all this." She waves to the air around her, but Wes gets the gist. He laughs, in fact.

"Sometimes it can be a test of endurance." He shrugs. "I know how you feel. My fiancée always struggles with the family, too."

Soul's eyebrow plucks upwards. "Oh yeah?"

"She's a musician, obviously. Born and bred in England, been playing violin since she was 12. She attended the Royal College of Music in London." He answers.

"So what's the problem?"

"Ah, well. She prefers… contemporary music. That's why she moved to Cali, to get away from the pretentious side of music." He explains. "So, you can understand why it frustrates her when she has to sit through dinners and events here. Mother's pretty open about disliking her,  _ahem_ , cavalier attitude towards classical training. And you know how father feels about these things."

Soul smirks, jerking a thumb in Maka's direction.

"Can you imagine if they knew I was dating someone who didn't play at  _all_."

Wes makes a face. "Yes, actually." He coughs. "I can't imagine that it would be all that fun, for you. Or you." He includes Maka in the sentiment. "I take it you aren't you going to tell them?"

Soul shrugs, laid-back as ever. "Why bother with the hassle? I don't need their approval, and I don't have the energy to argue with my mother anymore." He references his angry adolescent years. "Don't tell them."

"I promise I won't." Wes agrees, sincerely. "If you do me one small favor,"

Soul groans. "Yeah?"

"You two come and visit me and Lauren at our place sometime." He smiles, gesturing to Maka. "I promise that you'll be welcome." He smiles, kindly. "It's been too long, brother. I've missed you."

Soul looks for a second as if he wants to return the sentiment, but he doesn't manage to formulate the words and instead offers his brother a curt nod of agreement.

* * *

Eventually, people do leave the gathering. A few offer their final condolences as they leave, a few tears are shed.

Soul's just glad the ordeal is over, and that he and Maka can scoot upstairs and get some well-deserved rest before a long drive home the next day. Before they do, they swing by the kitchen and Maka gets to meet Rosa, the famous housekeeper/chef/nanny rolled into one.

Talking to her is a welcome relief, she seems genuinely pleased to see Soul and gives him (and Maka) a big hug. She's a large fifty-something Korean woman with an extremely pleasant manner and jolly laugh.

"Are either of you hungry?" she wonders, after some introductions.

This the process which leads to Maka and Soul sitting on the kitchen counter-tops while snacking on sticky rice cakes as Rosa regales Maka with tales of Soul and Wes' upbringing.

"Wait so… he hid it in the  _piano_?!" Maka chuckles.

"Yes, he did. It didn't take them two days to find it. Next time his mother went to play, it was all out of tune!" she laughs, as Soul scoffs. "Needless to say… they were both in a lot of trouble."

Soul shrugs, a little grin on his face. "It would've been a good idea… if he hadn't put it directly on the strings."

Rosa shakes her head in mock dismay. "You kept putting his things in his violin for the next two years!"

"Heh. He deserved it, that idiot." Soul shrugs. "He didn't steal my stuff, though, after that."

"All that trouble! For a  _snowglobe_ …" Maka laughs.

"Well, it was a gift from our grandfather. Wes was jealous, 'cause he didn't get anything that year."

Maka frowns. "That seems a little harsh. Why didn't Wes get anything from your grandfather?"

Rosa purses her lips and Soul shrugs, going silent. Maka senses that she's stumbled across a sensitive topic, and doesn't push it any further. "Alright, don't tell me, then." She excuses. "I'm just going to run to the toilet- be a second. But I want to hear more stories!" she laughs, jumping down from the counter and wiping sticky rice bun-residue onto a nearby washcloth.

"You know where it is?" Soul calls.

"Yeah, got it." She calls back, quickly slipping into the hallway. She tries to be quiet- it's late, and she's not sure whose awake and whose asleep.

She tiptoes through the plush cream carpet, her toes squishing pleasantly into the soft material with every light step.

"Excuse me." A deep voice rumbles at her across the corridor and frightens her, just for a second. She realises with a little embarrassment that it's Soul's dad, who is peeking round the door of his well-lit study.

"O-oh! Sorry if I was making too much noise, Mr Evans. I was searching for the toilet…" she replies, her voice coming out in a squeak.

"Of course. It's just that room there." He points to a door opposite and she nods graciously.

"Thank you."

"Oh, and Maka?"

She's surprised that he even remembers her name, after all- he's barely even looked at her all afternoon and evening. Except for that one glare… "Hmm?" she replies.

"If you wouldn't mind, after you are finished, I would like to speak with you in my office."

She balks and nods frantically, hurrying herself into the toilet and shutting the door. She quickly does what she needs to do and washes her hands, staring at herself in the mirror. Checking whether she looks fit for consumption. Wondering what on earth Mr. Evans could  _possibly_  want her for. She wonders fleeting if she should tell Soul? She decides against it, turning the tap off and drying her hands on the towel provided.

He's gone back inside his study when she emerges, so she knocks on the heavy door and waits, feeling a little like a child whose been sent to the office for punishment and awaits their sentencing.

Will it be detention or lines? She thinks to herself flippantly.

The door creaks open, and his looming figure appears once more.

"Please, come in."

She does so, scuttles inside the plainly decorated space and doesn't wait for him to tell her to sit down; noticing how similar his voice sounds to Soul's.

"Did you… uh, did you want something?" she's oddly nervous, but she's trying not to let that come across in her tone.

The formidable man sits down opposite her, and stares.

"Our family has been practicing music for generations." He starts, a little inanely. She stares at him, wondering if he's gone mad. Wonders if he was always mad. "Eleven, to be exact. Musicianship has been prevalent in this family since the 17th century." He adds.

"O-ok…"

"It's something of a point of pride." He levels Maka with his gaze. "You must have a rich ancestral history, too. I'm sure you understand these things."

She nods, her legs trembling underneath her spine. Luckily, he can't see. "Good. I'm sure you'd also agree that it would be a shame if Soul were to abandon his ancestry in the pursuit of some other frivolous activity."

Maka narrows her eyes, understanding creeping in.

"By 'frivolous activity', do you mean our work at the academy?" she asks, but Soul's father clean ignores her.

"We live in a certain class of people, you understand." He patronizes. "Appearances mean everything. Soul was cursed with these genetics, carried from his grandfather. That, we can't help." He pauses, seemingly for effect. "We can, however, choose what we do with what we are given."

Maka's trembling again, now. But out of rage this time, not nerves.

"You think he was  _cursed_ …?" she stops short of telling Soul's father that he was blessed with a chance to escape their oppressive regime.

"That academy. That place." He says the words slowly and distastefully, like they physically pain him. "They're in the business of poaching anybody who exhibits weapon traits, from young ages. They brainwash you into thinking that their cause is the nobler one." He clasps his hands together. "He even changed his name, last I heard. It doesn't matter. That boy is an Evans. And he's going to  _be_  an Evans until the day he dies."

"Soul made his decision," Maka snaps.

"Of course he did. It was the wrong decision."

"Your opinion. What do you want  _me_  to do about it?"

"You're his little…  _partner_ … aren't you?" the man states, rather than asks. "You owe it to him to convince him to change his mind." He pauses. "You know as well as I do that he's wasting his talents at that place."

"So? Soul has other talents."

"Is devil-magic a talent now? That's certainly news to me." The man has the audacity to smile, as if amused by the idea.

"Yes." She replies, quickly. "And it's a  _hell_  of a lot more useful than playing the violin, that's for sure," Maka spits back, getting hot under her collar, now. "Besides, why are you asking all this now? It's been almost six  _years_  since he left."

Soul's father sighs deeply. "We were banned from going anywhere near the school, I assume at Soul's request. We didn't have any contact details, either."

Maka bites back from stating that Wes had called Soul, deciding that it probably wouldn't be best to bring Soul's brother into this. If Wes had had a way to contact Soul, Soul's father hadn't known about it.

"If you hadn't pushed him out, then he wouldn't have left in the first place." She says, and then bites her tongue. She hadn't meant to go that far.

His expression doesn't change even a modicum. "I suppose you think that we were harsh on Soul, growing up?" he laughs. "You would have no  _idea_  what environment it takes to create a virtuoso. The environment I  _myself_  grew up in."

"And yet, you created a runaway." Her eyes narrow.

"My, my. I didn't expect you to have such a temper. You remind me of Soul, when he was younger." He hesitates while he rifles through a drawer for something, pulling out a slip of paper. "Tell me, Maka. Have you ever excelled at  _anything_ , in your entire life…?"

Oh, that was enough.

"As a matter of fact, yes." She snaps, visibly irritated. She's about to go into detail about her perfect GPA and test scores, but he interrupts, sliding the piece of paper over to her. It's a little old, but nevertheless been kept in perfect condition.

The date stamps it two years ago.

Her eyes skim over the first few lines, but she quickly understands what it is. It's an offer letter.

"You know what this is?"

"It's a music scholarship," she frowns, looking at the address. "Royal College of Music, London. Addressed to Soul…"

"The most prestigious music academy in the world." Soul's father leans back in his chair. "You don't understand music, so let me spell this out: if Soul attended that school, he would excel in his field and become a career musician. Like the rest of his family."

Maka shrugs. "So?"

"They sent this two years ago. I couldn't get in contact with Soul to tell him, and I doubt he would have been interested, anyway." He shakes his head. "I spoke with the head talent scout just a few weeks ago. If Soul doesn't accept by the end of this month, then the offer will expire. His chances at being a career musician will disappear, along with his chance at ever living up to his family name."

"Soul works for the academy…" Maka frowns, reading the letter again. Her voice falters, now.

"And he can, again. If that's what he chooses to do, then so be it." Soul's father's voice takes a smug tone, knowing that he's got her. "But don't you think he deserves at least the chance to shine, for once? He's always lived in his brother's shadow. It was a shame for him, growing up. Trust me, this is what he really wants." Soul's father smiles, his mouth stretching out over his teeth in a way which reminds her a little of Soul in the most unsettling of ways. "We're a well-connected family, Maka. We can make life outside the academy difficult if you don't comply with us."

Maka blinks and folds the piece of paper up, placing it into her dress pocket.

"I'll… I'll tell him." She agrees, somewhat unhappily. "Not because you threatened me. But… because I agree, that he should know." She says with steely resolve, beginning to stand up. "And the academy is a noble place."

"The grim reaper stealing children from their parents and turning them into brainwashed killing machines?" he pauses, intrigued.

"It's for the good of the country."

"You could say the same thing of the US military," he scoffs, unconvinced.

"Yes, you could." She retorts, her voice terse. She's standing up, now.

"Say what you want, anyway. This is what's best for Soul. I'm sure that you want that as much as I do."

"You don't even  _know_  him," she frowns. "How can you say what's best for him?"

She's overstepped her boundary, now, wherever that was.

"You think you know your  _friend_  better than I know my own son…?"

"We're not just friends." She says with a gleam, knowing that she'll win this argument any day. Soul's father's eyes flash with anger.

She doesn't get the chance to say anything else, however, because the next thing she sees is a white flash of hair appear in the door.

The subject of discussion stands there, clearly having heard the last few bites of conversation.

"Soul!" she exclaims. "You're here!"

"What are you doing?" he asks, not sure if he's talking to his dad or to Maka.

"Is this  _true_?" the man counters his question. "Is this your little  _girlfriend_?" he says, with disgust evident in his voice. Maka flinches away.

"Yes." Soul replies stiffly.

"You don't think you've brought enough shame to this family as it is?" he asks, and Soul has to laugh. "Everything that we've given you, and you want to throw it away? You want to throw away your talent, your name, now your legacy?"

As he listens, Soul's arm transforms to scythe mode without him even realizing. His father is surprised by the transformation, just for a second. Then he laughs. "You're going to hurt me? I don't think so."

Soul's knuckles on the other hand are white with rage, but he remains laconic. "We're leaving, now." He says, factually.

"So be it." Soul's father stands up, as if to escort them out of his office. "Your mother will be heartbroken." He adds, perhaps sarcastically. "And you won't be welcome here again."

"I wasn't anyway," he scoffs and grabs Maka's arm, pulls her out of the room and kicks the door shut with his foot.

* * *

His arm is still part-scythe as he silently leads her to get their things. Tears form in her eyes and threaten to spill over, so she wipes them away prematurely. "S-soul…" she says, when he's slung his bag over his back and begins to head back downstairs. "Are you sure we have to leave? Shouldn't we stay?" she asks, unsure of herself as he grabs his bag and swings it onto his back.

He pauses before replying. "Yes."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… he called me into his office and starting asking me questions. I'm sorry, I didn't want to do any of…" she tries to articulate, a little mixed up.

He stops her, puts his hands on her shoulders. "This isn't on you, Maka." They descend the stairs and he adds: "I know my parents, but the fact that he would invite you to his office just to interrogate you about me-"

"It wasn't just-" Maka tries to explain, but she's cut off.

"You're leaving?"

It's Wes, emerging from a room on the landing.

"Yes." Soul says gruffly, not divulging any more detail. "I don't know… how you put up with them." He flashes Wes an irritated glance.

"You're driving back,  _now_? Haven't you been drinking?"

Soul smirks at his brother. "My blood is black." He shrugs. "Besides. I know my limits. I'll be fine." Wes stares at his younger brother in the same manner that one might stare at a person if they'd suddenly grown a second nose.

"A-alright." Wes frowns. "I can't say I'm overly surprised. Thanks for coming, though. It was… good to see you." He coughs. "Drive safe. Let me know when you get in." he doesn't question Soul's motives, just wishes them a final adieu. "I'll let mother know you've gone. She'll be upset, Soul. She misses you." He states, disappointment and acceptance equally evident in his tone.

"Yeah… thanks, Wes." He drawls, turning to Maka. "I'd better let Rosa know that we're leaving."

Maka sleeps in the backseat for the entire journey back while Soul drives silently home through quiet dark roads, stopping every two hours or so at gas stations so he can rejuvenate himself with coffee, and his car with fuel.

She awakens and cracks open an eye at some point, watches him for a little while; hunched over the steering wheel as they plummet through dimly lit stretches of highway. His hoodie obscures most of him but she can see the side of his face; the scowl etched there.

Despite knowing it's not her fault, she feels guilty. She convinced him to see them in the first place, some misguided notion that family was sacred. Then, in his dad's study. She should've just cut it off, she shouldn't have argued with him. Maybe it wouldn't have escalated that way.

Or maybe she just shouldn't have gone with him, let him deal with it on his own.

She feels guilt for a few minutes, but

He manages to sink around six coffees before they make it to Death City and he wakes her up; it's basically morning, anyway. The sun begins it's cackling in the sky out the window, as Soul drags himself to his room and practically collapses into his own bed.

Despite the fact that he's not slept a wink all night, he finds it hard to sleep now as he stays awake and stares up at the ceiling.


	4. turntables

 

 

Soul had many talents. Playing the piano, basketball, cooking, being a weapon. He was a multifaceted man, let it be said.

Talking about his feelings was  _not_  on the list.

Maka tentatively tries to broach the subject of his estranged family not once, not twice, but three times before they had had the following particularly terse exchange:

_"_ _Hey, y'know. It's okay if you want to talk to me," she had tried, last night._

_He had frowned lightly and dropped the bag of shopping clutched in his hand onto the counter with a thud. "Sure. But I don't have anything to talk about."_

_She had swallowed and tried again. "Just… about… the funer-"_

_"_ _Maka." He had faced her squarely. "I'm sorry you got caught up in my family's crap. But stop asking me. I don't want to go into it." He enunciated clearly and had started to somewhat angrily pluck ingredients for chicken curry out of the plastic bag._

_She had bitten her lip. "Ok."_

_He had had a feeling that the conversation was far from over, but at least she might wait a few days before she would bother him about it again._

Still. It wasn't like she didn't notice how strangely he was acting around her, in the weeks that followed. Moping around the place, refusing to talk to her about it, even going out drinking with his friends more often than usual.

One sunny morning in September, Soul spends the better half of the day playing basketball with Black Star, Liz and Kilik while the sun beats down on them from above. It's a pretty rigorous game of two-on-two, but Kilik and Black Star managed to beat them fair and square.

"Next time, we're swapping teams!" Liz says huffily after the loss. Soul raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, don't blame this on me."

"You're all moody and distracted!" she exclaims at him.

"It's  _hot_ ," he complains, grumbling at the very sun itself. "Too hot for September."

"We live in Nevada." Liz shrugs, unsympathetic. "Anyway. Maka says you're from Cali."

"I hope you didn't expect us to let you win, just because you're a  _girl_ , Thompson!" Black Star yells excitedly, cutting short whatever retort Soul was going to fire at her. "I'm a GOD, and I won't bow down to anyone-"

"Of course not." Liz scoffs, calling back with derision. "You should get Tsubaki to join us next time, though. I'd sure appreciate some female company on the courts."

"'Course!" he beams back at her. Liz glances at Soul. "Er, and if Maka-"

" _No_  chance." He has to laugh a little. "What about Patty?" he makes conversation as the group walk down the street to their respective homes.

Liz shrugs. "She's not into basketball, either. She's helping Kid with some project around the academy today, anyway." She yawns. "Jeez. You weren't wrong; it is hot." She admits, fanning her face with her hand. "You guys wanna grab some ice cream?"

"I'm down." Kilik shrugs as they round the corner.

"YAHOO!" Black Star's whooping cry of approval comes soaring towards them. "I'M GETTING BUTTER PECAN!"

Kilik rolls his eyes as he and Liz share a glance.

Soul holds back. "I'd better get back," he says, as Liz and Kilik turn around to look at him.

"Gotta get back to your lady, huh Soul?" Liz teases.

" _Whipped_." Kilik comments dryly. "Man, if I ever get that whipped, you'd guys had better put me out of my misery." He adds with a wry laugh.

Soul offers up a slight smile and a shrug. "That would require having a girlfriend, though,"

"OOOOOOOOH!" Black Star gasps. " _Burn_ , Kilik."

"Psh. Too busy winning basketball games for that." Kilik says back, good-naturedly. "See you around."

"Later," Soul mutters, before nipping down a side alley and deviating from his friends. He walks brusquely as Liz's words ring in his mind. ' _You're all moody and distracted,_ ' he muses.  _Had everyone noticed? Had he really been that obvious?_

It's not like he was trying to be distant. He just had a lot on his mind, since visiting his family. Thoughts ranged from wondering whether he should have left, thinking about his Grandma, concerned about Maka, excruciatingly running all his interactions with his mother through his mind…

It was easier not to talk about it, that's what he found. There was nothing to be gained. It was a shitty situation, but it wasn't like he lived with them anymore. He just figured that he had to wait this one out.

He still feels bad. On the way home, he takes a slight detour into a corner store and comes out again with a fistful of daffodils and a bag full of those caramel popcorn things that Maka seemed to be obsessed with at the moment.

_Lame, but he's never been the kind of partner who didn't care when he'd been a miserable shit._

_Hell, maybe Kilik was right._

It takes him a few extra seconds to jog up the numerable stairs which lead to their flat- he guesses that the sun and the basketball must have tired him out- and reach their front door, fumble with his keys and get inside his flat. "Hello," he calls into the hall.

He doesn't hear a response, so he wanders in and sets the flowers down on the side for a second while he puts his bag on the floor of the living room and…

It dawns on him.

There was two women sitting silently on the big rug where the coffee table had once been, their legs crossed and their eyes closed.

He blinks.

"Uh…"

One of Maka's eyes opens. "Oh! Sorry Soul. My mom was just teaching me how to meditate!"

Soul scratches his head, a little embarrassed. He's been so busy wallowing in his own familial problems that he'd completely blanked on Maka's mother coming to visit them.

The mother in question opens her eyes and relaxes her back.

"Let's call it a day, hm?" she smiles at her daughter and makes a move to stand up. Maka joins her. "You're Soul? It's nice to meet you." She says warmly. She's quite a bit shorter than him, which throws him off initially; but he gets the feeling that she makes up for it in strength. She has a firm look about her, which puts him on edge; he feels like she's watching him carefully.

Soul utters a platitude in return and reaches out for a hand to shake- but she grabs him and pulls him in for a hug before he gets a chance. Maka sniggers at his evident surprise.

"Uh." He starts, eloquently. "I'm sweaty," he excuses, realising that he must be disgusting from all that exercise. He looks down at himself, notices with a jolt that he's still dressed in his exercise gear- a slouchy grey t shirt and black shorts- and curses himself again for forgetting about today.

Maka sends him a sideways glance.

"How was basketball?" she asks, a little pointedly.

"Uh… good. Should I shower, or…?" he frowns at his meister, his gaze flitting between the two strong women with some modicum of terror.

Maka's mother gets a steely look in her eye. "I think that would be best." She says in a gravelly tone. His eyes flit to Maka who narrows hers and nods.

"Cool," he manages before practically breaking into a sprint towards the bathroom.

When he's gone, Maka and her mother share a look. Maka sniggers. "You've terrified him." she grins.

"I'm sorry, maybe that was a little mean. I couldn't resist!" Kami laughs. "My mother would have done something similar any time I brought a boy home."

"Did she do it with dad?" Maka asks idly. "When she found you were weapon partners?"

"Honey. She never  _stopped_  doing it with your father, until the day she died." Kami's smile lessens. "I almost have to respect the abnormal amount of disdain she held for him." She shrugs, changing the subject. "Is he always so jumpy?" she jerks a thumb towards the way that Soul had rushed. "I always thought you'd partner with a strong weapon, someone who'll  _protect_  you if you need it." She says seriously, a slight frown on her features.

The question takes Maka aback a little. "Oh! No, that's  _definitely_  Soul." She pauses. "He's laid back. Until we get to battle, I guess. It's just that his family are… pretty frosty. He probably expected the same from you."

"He certainly looks the part, anyway." She adds, baring her teeth with a little giggle. When she receives a stern look from her daughter she raises her hands to her sides. "I'm sorry, sorry!" she laughs. "No, he's nice-looking."

Maka shrugs as if it couldn't possibly matter. But Kami notices how she blushes when he emerges again from the bathroom, his hair sopping wet and dressed in slightly cleaner clothes.

She clasps her hands together.

"I thought it could be nice to take a tour round the academy," she smiles widely. "I'd love to see how things have changed. And meet Lord Death's son, that should be a hoot."

Soul and Maka exchange glances. "He's a good friend of ours, actually." She says coyly. "I'm sure he'd love to meet you. Kid's really nice."

Kami smiles. "Great! Soul. Will you be joining us?"

"Uh…" his eyes flit to Maka, who tilts her head. "Yep."

The three of them end up driving in Kami's little Prius up the hill to the academy as Maka chatters away to her mother and Soul sits silently in the backseat, watching the city whiz by. He's not used to being in the backseat, he's used to being inside the wind; having it whistle through his hair and face. It's a little boring, if he's honest.

"Do you drive, Soul?" Kami asks, reading his thoughts.

"Yeah. Mostly my bike."

She glances at him through the rear mirror. "Oh. I've been on plenty of motorbikes before, when I was passing through Vietnam."

"You went to Vietnam?!" Maka exclaims, a tinge of excitement evident. "You have to tell me all about it, Ma-"

"Yes, yes. I will. Not the safest of vehicles, are they? I also saw plenty of accidents." She casts a frosty look at Soul again.

"Depends." He pauses. "I'm fully licensed, been driving for six years. I've yet to come off."

"Six years?"

"Lord Death let him have a license at thirteen, because it was the easiest way for us to get to missions. They've issued similar exceptions in the past." Maka explains.

"I know," Kami says, fixing her eyes back on the road. "Does Maka ever ride with you?" she asks. He wonders if this line of inquiry is going where he thinks it is, i.e. straight to hell.

"When she wants." He replies, choosing his words carefully.

"Is it safe for her?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"Presumably you have no other method of transport. Was my daughter forced to endanger herself on your motorbike?"

"Mom!" Maka exclaims, to little avail. "Soul  _has_  a car…" she pouts.

Soul chuckles lowly. "I've never been very good at persuading Maka to do  _anything_." He raises his arms. "And besides, motorcycles when ridden properly aren't much more dangerous than cars."

Kami still frowns. "And helmets…?"

"She wears mine."

"And yourself?"

He shrugs, reaching a bone of contention between the two of them. "No," he admits, running a loose hand through his hair.

Kami nods, her lips pressed into a firm line. Soul wonders if he's blown things with Maka's mother already, but she surprises him he spots a smile form on her face in the wing mirror. He relaxes just a modicum.

"What kind of mother would I be if I didn't at least make sure that she wasn't partnered up with some motorcycle-happy hooligan?"

Maka sends her mother a sidelong glance and rips little pieces of her fingernails off with worry. Soul shudders, albeit slightly relieved that she seemed to be at least somewhat satisfied by the conclusion.

The car shortly pulls up beside the main entrance to the academy and its inhabitants all pile out at once.

"Wow." Kami breathes, staring at the entrance. "It hasn't changed a bit."

"Really?" Maka asks. "I thought Kid had supposedly made all sorts of renovations… y'know, to make it more symmetrical and the like…"

"It has been a few years." Kami concedes. "Shall we go inside?"

Soul spends the next few hours trudging alongside the two women as they chatter up the minutes; feeling a bit like a chaperone. He offers little in the way of conversation but does give forth the occasional grunt when the moment requires one.

Maybe it's rude, but he's never been one for idle prattle.

They weave their way through the school bit by bit, until Soul begins to yawn and demonstrates clear signs of boredom. Kami narrows her eyes at him.

"Tired?"

"A little," he admits. "It's too hot to sleep."

"Too hot?" Kami ponders. "Where is your family from?"

"California," he stretches his arms out. "I know, I know. I don't like the heat, though. It burns my skin." He points at his face.

"After that mission in northern France you were so blotchy!" Maka exclaims. "Remember? Your nose was so burned it almost came off!"

He laughs, and then frowns. "Yeah, well. At least I'm a graceful skier." He retorts with a teasing smile. "Whereas you could have been mistaken for a certain motherless deer-"

"Excuse me!" she says, mock-shocked. "Just because I didn't grow up in a well-to-do family that took me  _skiing_!"

Kami observes the exchange with an interested glance.

"Well-to-do?" she cuts in now. "Really?"

Soul's face turns a shade darker and he nods. "I guess,"

"No offence, but you didn't strike me as the son of a rich family."

Soul wonders what the hell that means. Kami was even better at speaking her mind than even Maka was, if that were possible.

"Mother!" Maka says, as if her mother has said something shocking. Soul just shrugs again.

"I don't really fit in with them."

"Really?" she pushes, and Maka feels Soul's wavelength become a little ragged, a little disturbed. Her own heart starts to beat faster, and she remembers the letter; intensifying her own anxieties about keeping something from him. "Why not?" her mother asks. Maka looks at her partner, wondering what he's going to say. He's never been the type to lose his cool, but even her mother must be able to tell that he doesn't want to talk about this.

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then shrugs. "They… they don't like weapons."


	5. spirit and soul

**Sorry for delay. I have three WIPs and no time. Why can't I have no WIPs and three time?!**

* * *

There's a silence, as Maka's mother appears to be mulling this information over. Soul doesn't elucidate any further; and Maka's heart begins to speed up as she hastily tries to correct her boyfriend.

"Mama, Soul's just saying that his family… aren't  _used_  to weapons, like us and Papa," she shrugs, trying to soften the blow. "They just don't-"

"It's fine," Kami nods. "I understand. You know, your grandmother wasn't always so accepting of the DWMA, either," she reminisces. "I remember back when I first discovered I was a powerful meister," she looks at Soul with pity in her features. "She was very against it, back then. Lord Death hasn't always been so popular with children, and besides. It's a dangerous job," she pauses. "Tell me, Soul. What is it that your family do?"

"They're musicians. Like my ancestors."

Kami's features snap into a frown. "Musicians?" she shares a look with her daughter and laughs. "I can hardly imagine having such a frivolous life," she trails off, deep in thought. "Without all the danger, and all the responsibilities."

Soul wonders if she's throwing shade his way. Kami was very good at making him wonder that.

"Mama, Soul actually learned how to use his music during soul resonance to increase the power of our attacks," she defends him, valiantly. "Professor Stein was really impressed-"

"Professor  _Stein_ ," Kami inhales sharply. "Is a hack. And a nutjob."

"He's a good meister." Soul replies, shrugging.

Maka's stomach twists, and she gets the strong feeling that for whatever reason, it's not going well. Her mother seems uncharacteristically eager to disapprove of Soul, and Soul's curmudgeonly, stoic attitude wasn't exactly parent-friendly. She tries to lighten the mood. "Look, let's forget about Professor Stein… let's go and see Kid!"

Kami smiles and walks forward a few paces. "I'd love to."

Behind her back, Maka elbows Soul sharply and sends him daggers. "What?" he whisper-grumbles. "She  _asked_."

Restraining herself from Maka-chopping him right now is  _hard_.

"Kid, this is my mom, Kami. Mom, this is Death the Kid. Lord Death's son, Grim Reaper, and head of the academy."

Kami's face breaks into a warm smile and she steps forward to shake the young Shinigami's hand. "It's so lovely to meet you. I knew your father very well," she pauses. "Although, you seem too young to be  _head_  of anything…"

Kid's lips purse in response. "My father also spoke highly of you. If I had more time, it would be wonderful to sit and discuss in more detail some of the fascinating stories he's told me about you!" he replies crisply. "And… I know look young, but I am nineteen. My father was only sixteen when he became Lord Death. I hope I can follow in his footsteps and be as well-respected as he was, when he passed away."

Kami considers this for a while, and seems to reach a pleasing conclusion. Meanwhile Soul's eyebrow sink deeper into his eyeline as he finds himself, not for the first time, distinctly jealous of Kid's natural personal presence. "I  _love_  what you've done with the office. When I studied here, this was a private library – but it was always such a colossal mess,"

The word 'mess' appears to leave a bitter taste in Kid's mouth, but he stumbles through it. "It didn't feel right to inherit father's office," he reminisces. "I like this place much more. Much more opportunity for symmetry, I suppose."

Maka has to laugh. "Mama, Kid's obsessed with symmetry."

"Well, a bit of Feng Shui never hurt anyone…"

Maka and Kid share a chuckle while Soul remains stuck in place, leaning against the doorframe. Kid nods over to him. "Soul," he greets his friend.

"Yo."

"How are the extra sessions with Professor Stein?" Kid asks keenly. "He mentioned that you'd been running into some trouble combining some of Soul's newer piano techniques with regular resonance?"

Maka smiles politely. "Very well, thanks. Stein even used those stupid candles again – and we didn't even argue!" she laughs. "I think that's a good sign…"

"You've come a long way. You should be proud. Kami, your daughter is one of our most trusted students and most expert meisters. She's clearly picked up a lot from you!"

Kami pauses for a moment, accepting the compliment graciously. "Soul… didn't you say that you were a deathscythe?"

"Yeah," Soul replies, uneasily.

"Doesn't that make you Death the Kid's weapon now?" Kami asks, clearly a little confused. "That's how it  _used_  to work…"

Kid jumps in hastily. "Soul assists me when my primary weapons, Liz and Patty, are unavailable," he smiles. "It's just that Maka and Soul are one of our very successful partnerships, and-"

"So what's my ex-husband doing these days?" she asks sharply.

Kid takes a second to twig that her 'ex-husband' is in fact, Spirit. "Oh, oh!" Maka jumps in. "Dad's a teacher, now. He's retired from fighting. Sometimes he pairs up with Stein, but Stein's married to Marie, so-"

"Stein… and  _Marie_?!" Kami says with horror. "Marie  _Mjolnir_?!" she repeats, aghast. "Times really  _do_  change. Those two… I could never have imagined…" she trails off, her focus now flittering between Maka and Soul.

Soul swallows, wondering what she'd say if she knew the two of them were…

He doesn't manage to finish that thought, because Maka decides that enough is enough, and clears her throat.

"I think it would be lovely to pay them a visit, don't you, mama?" the young meister all but bustles her mother out of the door and into the long stretch of hallway. Soul, meanwhile, hangs back a little. "I, uh…." he mumbles incoherently. Kid jumps in.

"I need a private meeting with Soul, if you ladies wouldn't mind," he smiles over at Soul, whose eyes dart back towards the Shinigami. "I'll give him back soon, I promise!"

Kami and Maka shrug, and Maka grabs her mother's hand to lead them both out into the hallway. "Ooh, there's been renovations to the foyer, too. I  _need_  to show you!" she says excitedly, their excited voices becoming quieter as they move along; eventually leaving Soul standing in Kid's doorway in silence.

"You, uh, you wanted to-"

"You seemed stressed. Thought I'd give you a break," Kid explains, leaning back in his chair. Even doing something so simple as leaning, he manages to do with poise and grace. "Please, sit." Kid motions at the chair in front of his desk. Soul does so, a little cautious. "I take it that meeting the parents isn't really your forte," he begins, clearing his throat.

Soul runs a hand through his thick hair. "I guess not."

"Tell me, how are you doing?"

"Fine."

Kid regards him like he doesn't believe a word of it but doesn't push the subject. "Maka tells me that you recently visited your family."

Soul shrugs. "I didn't realise you were my therapist."

"I'm your friend, Soul."

"…okay. Yeah, we did." He rubs his neck, a little awkward. "We don't get along so well."

"I've heard."

"They're a bunch of old-school traditional types. They don't even like me that much; Maka was never going to fit in with them. It was doomed from the beginning," he says bleakly, his tone almost passing as careless but with a little too much venom to be believable. "I left early after my grandmother's funeral."

"I'm truly sorry to hear about her passing."

"It's fine." Soul leans back in his chair, mirroring his boss. "She was old," he elucidates with a mutter.

"How are you finding Maka's mother visiting?"

"… ah, it's like you said," he drawls, his gaze seemingly stuck to the floor, hesitating before he continues. "Meeting the parents isn't really what I'm good for."

"Does Kami know that you and Maka are romantically involved?"

Soul scratches his chin, appearing to think about this. "You know, I'm not sure. I don't think it matters, though. I'm still her partner. I guess that's bad enough."

"Why do you think she doesn't like you?"

Soul seems a little troubled by the question, if the look on his face is anything to go by. "You wouldn't understand. Clean and tidy? Head of the academy at age twenty-two? You are a mom's  _wet dream_." He allows himself a smirk, clearly enjoying Kid's uncomfortable squirming at his use of language. "Hell. Even my own parents aren't that keen on me. I was never going to be Maka's mom's ideal son-in-law."

Kid raises an amused eyebrow. "I wasn't aware you were getting married."

"You know what I mean."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way. I… can only sympathize." Kid shakes his head. "If it's any consolation… if Maka's mother knew how devoted to her daughter you really were, she'd probably  _adopt_  you," he says with a light-hearted tone.

Soul chuckles. "Thanks," he says sincerely, hearing his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out and makes a face at it, then Kid. "I guess I'd better find 'em." He stands up to leave, moving very slowly, like he's putting off his fate for as long as humanly possible.

"Good luck!" Kid calls after him as he practically shuffles out of the door.

* * *

"You know, I first kissed your father standing on these very steps!" Kami exclaims with a smirk. "Although the academy looked a little different back then. And so did we!"

Maka laughs but pointedly doesn't ask for any more information. Hearing about her parents love life wasn't high on her priority list; now not and not ever. "This concludes our tour, I think." She smiles. "I'd love to go and visit Prof Stein, if you-"

"Maka." Kami stops her daughter, with a hand on the shoulder. "Can we sit? Just for a second. I'm sure Stein is busy… experimenting…" Kami shudders, remembering the years of abuse that crazy doctor put her husband through. "Let's chat!"

Maka beams and the two women go to perch down on the side of the balcony wall. "What do you think of my friends? I mean, you've only met two of them, but I really want you to meet the others, soon! I'm sure you'll get along great with everyone… except maybe Black Star, but-"

"It was wonderful meeting Lord Death's son.  _Kid_ , was it?" she asks, and Maka nods. "He's very handsome. Well-dressed, too. And I can't believe that office! That room used to be the messiest library and now it's pristine," she says with a smile.

"Kid has been a really great head of the academy. Of course, he needed some help and counsel at first. But it's really come naturally to him. He's a good leader. And we're good friends, too."

Kami nods. "Much more handsome than his predecessor!"

Maka grins. "I wouldn't know. I never saw Lord Death's face!"

"You've mentioned that you were close friends…" she says with a teasing smile, elbowing her daughter lightly in the arm. "That doesn't mean what I think it means, does it?" she asks, curiosity getting the better of her. Maka blinks slowly and then reacts suddenly as she realises what her mother is implying.

"Wait- you mean...? With  _Kid?_ " Maka's facial expression is one of abject shock.

"Mm."

" _No_."

"Hm." Kami shrugs. "I suppose you're so busy these days, fighting kishin, that you don't have time for much of a romantic life," she considers, looking away. "Still. He's a handsome boy!" she says with a wink. "And dating the Grim Reaper would definitely have it's perks, too…"

Maka's heart hammers in her chest. "Mama… I…"

Kami seems to sense her daughter's discomfort and her eyebrows knit together. "Oh, don't listen to me. I'm just teasing you," she smiles warmly. "I'll stop being such a meddlesome mother, now. I promise." She holds her hands up defensively. "I just want you to be happy."

Maka smiles. "Ok," she says unsurely. "I'm glad that you liked Kid. I had a feeling that the two of you would get along. What did you think of Soul?"

Kami hesitates before she speaks, and Maka's pulse quickens again. "He seems… nice. A little curt and brooding," she sighs. "He's not what I imagined."

"How do you mean?"

"He seems… withdrawn. Disinterested. Dispassionate." Kami pauses, proceeding with the rest of her sentence tentatively. "Darling… I know I said I wouldn't meddle any more, but are you  _really_  sure that-"

Maka's fists curl and she finds herself hurling the next words at her mother a little more thunderously than she'd intended. " _YES_. I'm sure. Soul is my partner. I would  _never_  want another partner." The words come accompanied by an emphatic shake of her head. "I can't believe you would even  _suggest_  that. Soul is… he's… he's my-"

"SUP, LOSERS?!" a voice barges in, completely cutting off her train of thought. "WHO ARE YOU, LADY?"

"Black Star… what great timing," she lays the sarcasm on heavily. "This is my mother. Mom… meet my friend Black Star," Maka introduces with a groan.

* * *

"I can't believe how hot the weather is today," Liz comments, fanning her with her perfectly manicured hand. "I wish I could be outside, getting a beautiful tan. Instead, I'm stuck in here with you  _weirdos_."

Spirit's mouth turns into a wan, thin smile. "You  _always_  have a beautiful tan," he comments, the corners of his smile turning up creepily.

Liz pops a stick of gum in her mouth and chews on it, slowly. "Ew," she says, after a pause.

"Well, I'm having a great time!" Patty calls, her voice obscured by a mountain of library books. "You guys should join me in my fort. It's wicked in here!"

Liz looks Spirit up and down, looks at the endless rows of shelves that Kid asked them to organise  _on the hottest saturday of the year_ and then sighs.

"Fine," she stretches up and then walks pointedly over to where she believes the entrance to Patty's book-cave is. "Girl, how do I get  _in_?"

"You CAN'T!" Patty giggles. "I've built it up from within. There's no entrance or exit!"

Liz pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a sigh. "For Death's sake." She turns to Spirit. "So what did you do to end up in  _adult detention_  with the two of us?" she pauses. "We were late finishing some mission paperwork."

Spirit frowns, as if he doesn't quite understand. "You guys are being punished?" he repeats slowly. "I volunteered to help. I thought it would be nice to spend some more time with my number one-"

"PATTY!" Liz screams, taking 2 steps back from Spirit's advances. "LET ME IN THE FORT."

"No can do," she giggles, but Liz charges at the side of the mountain of teetering books like a raging bull, crashing into the side and toppling the whole pile of them over like a game of Jenga.

There's a silence as books rain down on top of Patty's head and she stares sadly at her fallen empire. Before anyone can say anything, the door of the library creaks open and all three of them stand bolt upright-

"And this is the new libr-" Maka stops talking, trails off blankly. "What are you guys  _doing?_ " she stares at her friends and her father, perturbed. "Mother, this is Liz and Patty. Liz and Patty. My mom." She cautiously steps over a pile of books.

Kami and Spirit lock eyes for a hard few seconds, and then Spirit looks away, breaking their eye contact. "Hello, Kami," he utters. "You're looking well. How are you doing?"

Kami smiles tightly. "Very good Spirit. Yourself?"

"Yes…" he starts. "We were just organising the library," he hesitates. "Hello Maka, darling."

"Hi, dad." Her face burns red.

Liz and Patty share a look, wishing very much that they weren't here for this unpleasant family reunion. "Uhm… we uh…" she starts trying to formulate an excuse, but Kami butts in.

"So lovely to meet you!" she steps forward and offers her hand out to Liz first. "Liz, is it?"

Liz nods firmly. "Weapon to Kid Death."

"Wow, really!" Kami exclaims, walking over to Patty and sticking out an arm to help her get up. "Hi, Patty."

"Hello Mrs. Albarn."

"Call me Kami, please."

"Hello, Kami!"

She steps back and looks at the rubble. "I'd stay and help you, but I've got a flight to catch at the end of the day and this looks like a three day job," she drawls.

"It's okay. It's Liz's fault, anyway. I'm sure that she'll do most of the cleaning."

Liz glares at her younger sister and then beams politely back at Maka's mom.

"Your accent… are you from NYC?"

"Brooklyn, ma'am." Liz grins. "We grew up there."

"Fascinating… I visited, last year. Truly amazing city. Do you ever miss it?"

"Oh, all the time. I love Death City, too. But there's something really magical about the streets of Brooklyn, Manhattan. I'd love to save up some money and go back there, one time. Unfortunately there doesn't tend to be many kishin missions in such a bustling city."

Kami nods understandingly, but her head turns round as she hears the door to the library open yet again as another person joins the fun. Once again, Spirit, Liz and Patty all stand bolt upright and freeze in place – until they see who it is.

"Hey, Soul!" Liz calls, visibly relaxing. "We're all just hanging out. In the library." She clears her throat. "It's not weird at all. Also, Maka's mother's here."

Soul blinks, looking perturbed as he glances around the library. "What the  _hell_  happened in here?" he scratches his head in confusion. "Jeez. You better be glad I'm not Kid."

Liz groans. "Yeah. We'd better get clearing this up before Kid actually  _does_  walk through the door."

Spirit hesitates, glancing once at his family and once back at Liz and Patty. "You girls mind if I take a quick break?"

Liz sends him a biting glare. "I'm not your  _mother_."

The heavy-handed subtext makes Soul cringe, and he's the first one to leave; just as quickly as he poked his head through the door in the first place. To his immense disappointment, Maka, Spirit and Kami all proceed to follow him.

When they're all piled out into the hallway, Soul's eyes dart around somewhat nervously, wondering how he could possibly excuse his way out of this particular situation.

"Ahem," Spirit clears his throat.

Maka cringes. "Papa, no offence, but today is my day to spend with Mama. Can't you find something else to do?"

Kami has the good grace to look sympathetic for her ex-husband, but Soul notices that she can't quite hide her smug smile from the group. Spirit, on the other hand, looks almost comically dejected- his sad mouth hanging so low that it threatens to fall off his face.

"O-okay, darling," he mopes. "Text me if you need anything," he tells her sadly, before trudging slowly away in the opposite direction, as slowly as physically possible.

Soul's hit with an uncharacteristic pang of empathy for the man, coupled with a great excuse to get out of Kami's inspecting glare.

"I'm going to check if he's okay." Soul says sagely, staring after the man's pathetic waddle.

Maka looks disappointed. "Oh, really?" she asks.

"Yeah." Soul swallows. "I, uh. I know what it's like, I guess." He splits away from Maka and her mom. "See you guys a little later."

Kami blinks in surprise as Soul jogs in the opposite direction, a frown adorning her features.

"Now  _there's_  an unlikely friendship."


	6. lemon verbena

"Yo."

"What are you doing here?" Spirit interrupts his glum-looking sitting to turn around and glare at his unlikely companion. His eyes find that Soul's disposition almost exactly matches his own, which softens his mood a little. "What's up with you?"

Soul shrugs and beckons Spirit over to the door to the large chequered tiling of the Shibusen balcony, wordlessly. Spirit, intrigued, follows after him. For a few moments, the sun beats down on them as Soul tries to think of something to say.

"She doesn't mean it," he decides to go with.

"I know she doesn't," Spirit growls back, unconvincingly. "She's my daughter, not yours." He points a large possessive thumb towards his face. Soul just rolls his eyes and shrugs.

"Fine, old man." Soul shrugs. "I tried." He pivots dramatically on his heel as if to stomp back inside but Spirit grabs him by the scruff of his neck and puts a stop to the theatrical motion.

Arm outstretched, Spirit interrogates his catch. "What did you mean by that? She ' _doesn't mean it'_?" he wonders, curiosity getting the better of him.

Soul rolls his eyes and carefully removes Spirit's fingers from his clothing before answering. "I mean… she gives you a hard time, but you shouldn't take it personally. You've been there for her way more than her mother over the last six years. She appreciates it. She's only harsh because you're  _clingy_ ," he ends on a sour note, giving Spirit a slightly disgusted look as the man almost drools over the praise he's hearing.

"My Maka… she  _said_  that?!"

Soul hesitates. "Ah… nope," he clarifies. "But uh. I know her."

"I know her better!" Spirit rushes in.

Soul scoffs. "Right…" he shakes his head, leaving a long silence in between answers. "Regardless. Don't take it personally. Just… be there for her when her mom leaves," Soul says, instantly wondering if he's put his foot in it the second the words come out of his mouth. "Or don't." He shoves his hands in his pockets, instantly embarrassed. "Whatever."

Spirit's eyebrows flirt with a frown and he stops Soul from stomping away. "Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?"

Soul shrugs. "I'm used to… being the black sheep of my family. So I get it." He hates it, but something in his voice betrays him by sounding sad instead of apathetic, and he stuffs his hands even further into his pockets in deep mortification.

Spirit considers his words for a few seconds and then does that rare thing where he turns serious instead of goofy. "Come on, kid." He beckons his fellow weapon to come towards the edge of the balcony where he plops himself down, tossing his long red locks out of the breeze and putting a cigarette in his mouth which he proceeds to light.

Soul almost splutters at how hard he's trying to channel 'cool dad' vibes but decides not to comment, wondering if maybe Spirit and him were about to have a personal bonding moment.

For a second, he briefly considers whether jumping from the balcony would kill or fatally wound him.

"You know, kid, I was just like you once." Spirit starts strong. Soul leans even further over the edge and realises with a resigned sigh that even if he did miraculously survive the drop, Kid would literally never forgive him for probably ruining half the architecture with his body weight.

"Uh huh," he settles in the for the long haul, finding at least somewhere comfortable to sit while he's bored to death.

"Young, and too cool for my own good, I mean." Spirit clarifies. "Rebel of my family. They disowned me, you know…" he trails off. "My mother didn't like the fact that I was a weapon. She never really wanted anything to do with me, even before that. My parents were divorced, so I grew up with my father- Maka's grandfather." He spins a yarn.

Soul decides this is one of those monologues where it's best not to interject, so he nods politely. Spirit coughs. "I didn't really get along with the old man, either. It was fine, for a little bit. But then I met the late Lord Death, and I realised that all along- I'd just been bored."

"Wasn't your first partner Stein?" Soul frowns, remembering  _that_  whole story.

Spirit laughs, and then shudders. "Yeah, well. You know, we were good friends, at first. We had similar ideas about the world; we both felt like our families; our homes and our upbringings had stifled us for years. We were a great team, for the most part anyway." Spirit pauses. "Obviously, before I found out that he was slicing me open each and every evening for his little experiments." The words are accompanied by a shudder.

"Maybe some people  _should_  be stifled."

Spirit snorts. "Yeah, well. Franken's a great man, in his own way. He just needs someone more… grounded than me. Anyway, it was after that whole debacle that I met Kami for the first time, Maka's mother.  _God_ , what a  _woman_ -"

Soul coughs warningly and Spirit hastily censors himself. "I mean, what a, uh… meister…" he grins semi-apologetically and Soul cringes. "I wasn't good to her. You know that already, though. I guess I'd just found my freedom from my family and ended up in a partnership with a psychopath. I'd finally found my freedom from that, and wham! I'm suddenly married and there's a kid on the way. I guess, after all that time, I wanted to  _be free_. So I… cheated on Maka's mother."

"That's no excuse." The words fly right out of Soul before he has time to think them over.

"I know that. But it's still the truth." Spirit sighs, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Soul wonders now, voicing the concerns he's had from the beginning of this conversation.

"Because." Spirit levels him; stares him right in the eye. "Don't make the same mistake with Maka."

Soul feels the skin drain from his face but he's desperate not to show it. "I'm not-"

"I know you're together."

"…" Soul regards him with a certain tentativeness.

"All I'm saying is, Maka's a good egg. Like her mother was. Don't throw all that away from a taste of freedom- trust me, it's not worth it. And… appreciate what you've got, kid. God knows she's out of your league. Both of them are."

Soul raises an eyebrow. "I know that," he says softly. "What makes you think I would throw it away?"

"You just… remind me of me."

"God help me." Soul mutters.

Spirit barks out a laugh. "Yes. God help you." He cocks his head towards his cigarettes and glances up at his companion. "Want one?"

Soul considers the offers. "Probably not. If Maka's mom smells it she'll probably hate me even more, if that were possible." He grimaces. "You know, I'd probably better get back. If I stand out here any longer, Maka will start to think that you and I are actually friends now, or something ridiculous." Soul stands up as if to leave, glancing back at Maka's father.

Spirit shrugs and shoves the pack back into his deep blazer pocket. "For what it's worth… I doubt she hates you. That's a special emotion that she reserves for me and me alone."

"Not hate, then. Disapprove."

"If she knew everything you'd give up for Maka, she'd never approve of anyone else."

Soul blinks in surprise at hearing the old Deathscythe speak so frankly; understand him so deeply. "You…  _know_  what I'd give up for her?"

Spirit nods gravely. "I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I know genuine devotion when I see it."

Soul thinks on this, just for a moment. "You know. You ain't so bad, for a creep."

Spirit chuckles fornlornly to himself for a moment. "Yeah, and for a spiky octopus-head punk, Maka could probably do worse."

Soul's features entertain a half smile and he sticks a hand out for the man to shake. "Truce?"

Spirit grasps his hand firmly, looking him dead in the eye. "Until you next piss me off."

* * *

"Mmm," Kami makes a noise of contentment as she sips her hot cocoa, courtesy of Marie Stein, nee Mjolnir. "That's glorious. How did you learn to make such delicious drinks?!"

Marie blushes sweetly and then winks. "Don't tell Frank. But dating Joe Buttataki helped in that regard! He was always so obsessed with coffee; I learned a thing or two about making a good warm beverage!" she laughs. "Are you enjoying your tea, Maka?"

Maka sips her green tea and feels it scald her tongue. She smiles through the pain. "Delicious," she lies, trying not to make a face.

"How long are you staying here for, Kami? Hopefully a little while!" Marie chats amiably away.

Kami smiles politely. "Actually, I'm leaving later today. I'm just on a flying visit to see my daughter, you see! There's much to do abroad. I'm flying to Cancun in the evening, where I'll be posted for a few months, give or take a little." She circles the hot cup with her little finger and blinks up at Marie. "I'm guessing you don't have much time for travelling, with the little one?" she gestures to the family picture sitting on the coffee table in Marie's office.

Marie laughs and shrugs. "Not so much, no. Although… you know me! I'm too neurotic to travel. And Stein isn't fussed, as long as he's keeping busy then we're both happy!"

"And how is the Professor? Maka says he's very well."

"Maka's correct! We've had the odd… slip-up." She winces. "But mostly, he's on track. He's stable. Actually, he should be heading here in a couple of minutes, I've sent for him." She smiles vaguely. "I remember the two of you… weren't always best fri-"

Marie's cut off from finishing the rest of her sentence by the door opening suddenly and abruptly, causing Maka choke on more of her hot tea.

"Speak of the devil..."

"…And he shall come." Dr Stein finishes Kami's sentence for her with a placid smile fixed to his mouth, clicking the door to Marie's office neatly shut behind him. He waits a second or two before deciding to speak. "Kami Albarn. The woman who ended my greatest ever experiment." He regards in his typical fashion; cold and calculating. Kami stares back and Maka freezes in place, suddenly on edge at the years of tension built up in the room.

"Uh…" she starts, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Come here and give me a hug, you crazy old bat," Kami grins, breaking the silence and Stein laughs; their hug shattering the heavy mood into pieces. Maka breathes a sigh of relief into her tea and Marie lets out a giggle.

"Oh, you two.  _So_  melodramatic."

"You know me." The doctor replies in a deadpan tone, indicating the exact opposite. "Maka," he greets his pupil; the familiar friendly tone layered thick with frost. His usual, in other words. "How is your training coming along?"

She nods and smiles. "Wonderfully, thank you."

"And Soul?"

"He's fine too."

Stein smiles a little distantly as if he doesn't quite believe her but doesn't raise the point as an issue. "Kami, Maka and Soul are training for an overseas mission on Madagascar. They've been training hard for it- you'd be proud of some of the strides forward she's made."

"I hear my little Maka is a wonderful meister," Kami repeats, proud as a mama bear.

"One of our strongest," Stein agrees with a deferential tone. "Almost as powerful as me at that age. Almost."

"You  _flatter_  yourself, darling, you really do." Kami drawls and finishes off her hot beverage, placing it harshly onto the desk in front. "Really, though. The two of us must get going." She checks her watch. "There's much mother-daughter bonding to be done before my flight this evening!"

She stands up with haste, having had quite enough of the professor and his new wife for the time being, and walks towards the heavy oak door. Maka follows, shooting a somewhat apologetic glance to Marie, who offers nothing but a sweet smile in response.

Kami says her goodbyes, and then she swings the heavy door open with gusto-

It's unfortunate, really. The chances are pretty slim, but still; it happens.

Kami holds the door open for Maka, Maka walks through and WHAM!

Maka crashes straight into Soul, spilling her hot tea all over his front.

"Shit, balls, fuck," he says all in one go- the result of having piping hot liquid suddenly come into contact with most of your torso. He suddenly seems to realise the stream of obscenities which has fallen out his mouth because as soon as the initial pain dies down his face turns to pure regret and he looks sheepishly up at Maka and her mother, still standing in shock. "Um… I mean, ow?"

"Oh, Death, I'm so sorry." Maka cringes, fleeing to the toilet to grab some paper towels. "Are you ok? I'm so sorry!" she repeats.

"No, it's fine," he mutters. "It's fine."

There's an awkward silence between the three of them and Soul swallows heavily. Maka tries to cut through it- "At least you smell of lemon verbena…?"


End file.
